Threats and Promises
by Addai
Summary: An unearthly confrontation in Denerim's streets forces Alistair and Idun to face the things that divide them, and ultimately what binds them together. Story 5 of Idun's cycle.


_My thanks to KnightofPhoenix from BSN for assistance in bastardizing the beautiful Arabic language as a stand-in for Rivaini. The bastardization is all mine. Thanks also to Sandtigress for help in Dalish terminology. Visual inspiration for this story taken from the painting Mina by Lynne Cerro, which can be viewed at the artist's website._

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The chevaliers' lead horse was reared back and the other horses in the first row were in disarray. It was but a brown rabble lined up in front of rows and rows of mounted knights, armor and lances gleaming mercilessly. At the head of this peasant army stood one man, his arm outstretched. It was this defiant gesture that stopped the charge. Though the mounted knights could easily run him down and beat his body into the earth, that didn't matter. The man with his hand outstretched had already won. The power was in his simple refusal to bow.

"It's Loghain, isn't it," Idun commented as they stood looking up at the tapestry, people shoving past them to get to the best tables in the inn's common room.

"Who else?" Alistair glanced uneasily around them. It was their first time in Denerim since Ostagar and they had already seen the posters advertising a reward for the capture of Grey Wardens. Fortunately the artist, whoever he was, was a poor one. They also looked different than they had as young recruits in Ostagar, a night which seemed to Idun like it was a lifetime ago. Alistair's hair was longer and he had the suggestion of a beard, Idun's dark hair also longer and thicker. She had wrapped herself in an indigo cloak, a lightweight wrap with loose cowl. It was Dalish, patterned with the arcane symbols of her people, but in the press of Denerim's market no one was likely to realize that. She had drawn the cowl up over her head like a veil similar to those worn by human women of northern lands, fastening a chain of colorful stones around her forehead to keep it from sliding back and revealing her tattoo. It was an exotic disguise, but there were enough foreign traders and travelers in Denerim that she hoped she could pass for one of them.

"Didn't Loghain ride into the Battle of River Dane on horseback?" Idun asked, recalling the chronicles she had read of his legendary confrontation with Orlesian chevaliers which had broken the back of the occupying force. "And the rebel army assembled on a hill above the valley, not in the valley itself."

"My dear, you have no sense for the dramatic." Zevran Arainai, the Antivan assassin, came up behind them, grinning broadly. He had proved a loyal ally since Idun spared him after the failed assassination attempt, a source both of good cheer and good counsel as well. Even the dubious Alistair had to admit the Antivan elf had paid back Idun's faith in him tenfold.

She smirked at him and replied wrly, "But you do, of course, Zevran. We know that."

"Of course! Now if you are quite finished with history lessons, could we move along? I smell brandy and my nose never lies."

Idun followed along behind her two companions, through the jumble of tables and milling patrons. It was risky to come here, the capital and Loghain's seat, but they needed to hear news. There was civil war in the Bannorn and riots in the towns. Highever and Gwaren were burning. Denerim seemed more at a simmer than at a boil, but it could be that they would find allies here nonetheless. The prospect of a good meal had also brought them to the Hound's Tail. The inn was more respectable than its name implied, though not respectable enough that their motley band would draw much attention. It was rumored to have a tolerable stew and a treasure even more rare, an honest innkeeper. These two factors accounted for the press of people jockeying for a place to sit or stand for a meal.

A harsh voice cut across the din. "_Maegi tal'adim! _

Idun stopped in her tracks. The language was Rivaini, but she understood it plainly enough even if few others might. After a hesitation, she started forward again, but the woman raised her voice still louder.

"_Maegi tal'adim. Ashrabin din bashar, ya elf hamaija!"_

Turning, Idun searched the crowd. It was not easy to find the crone among the other patrons, since she was no more than five feet tall, a shriveled thing, dressed not unlike Idun herself. The old woman's wraps were plain, however, her swarthy face deeply lined, the stench of sweat and something more pungent emanating from her like a cloud. That, along with her shouts, parted the inn's patrons like water as Idun approached her. Idun could feel eyes on her, Alistair's and Zevran's among them. _"Sidi halkek," _she hissed at the woman. Hold your tongue.

The woman had no such intentions. She smiled and lifted a crooked finger, pointing it at Idun. "_Maegi tal'adim! _MAEGI!"

It was unlikely that there was anyone else in the room who could understand the woman's shouts of "blood mage, blood mage," but Idun could not take the chance. She grabbed the crone's arm, drawing her face up close. The stench made her eyes water. In the king's tongue, Idun said in a low, even voice,"You are an abomination, hag, and I should cut you down where you stand." The two women stared at each other across the small space between their eyes, then slowly Idun released her. The crone bared her rotting teeth in a hideous grin. Nevertheless the threat seemed to work. She fell silent and melted back into the crowd, which soon enough went back to its chatter.

Turning, Idun brushed past her companions, saying, "We should get some provisions and leave." She was trembling and afraid to look behind her, though she did once, finding that the crone was nowhere to be seen.

Zevran made disappointed noises about leaving without stew, but his mood improved when the brandy turned out to be from Antiva. They bought the brandy, some wine and cheeses and carried them back out into the street. As they walked, Alistair kept pace with Idun through the marketgoers, elven beggars, Chantry priestesses who eyed them suspiciously, and the rank-smelling puddles that formed an obstacle course in their path.

"What was that all about?" he asked, touching her arm. "What did she say to you? And what language was that?"

"Rivaini," Idun answered. Glancing at her fellow Warden, she smiled and went on, "I surprise you. The Dalish wander, as you know, but the Dalish of Rivain live more settled lives, relatively close to humans. I lived a year or so among them. My sixteenth. The keeper wanted me to learn the ways of other clans and other people, particularly the Rivaini who are very skilled at magic. No one in my clan had ever lived apart from the clan that long, not outside Ferelden. It was considered quite unusual."

Alistair considered this, then his head bobbed and he said, "Yes, alright, but what was the woman saying? Who is this Maggie? And you called her an abomination. You don't really think..."

"I do think," Idun confirmed, nodding. "A powerful one. There are spirits everywhere, my Alistair. More than your templars could dream of. Just be glad that you're not a mage. As I keep telling you, it complicates life immensely."

This prompted silence, and before Alistair could ask more, they arrived at the herb shop where they had left Morrigan. The four soon found another inn that looked bustling. Idun and the others hung back while Alistair approached some off-duty workmen who were just drunk enough to loosen their tongues. Alistair's easy charm and broad Fereldan good looks were often put to good use this way. The men talked in furtive tones, but eventually they talked. Loghain had become increasingly paranoid, they said, his right-hand man Rendon Howe was mad (and a cheap bastard, too, one threw in for good measure) and Queen Anora had not been seen in public for some weeks. Those who spoke out against the regency were disappearing and army morale was low among everyone but Loghain's closest ranks. Alistair should look for the guard sergeant of the market district if he wanted to learn more. As these men told it, the man had a good head on his shoulders and no great love for Howe.

It seemed reckless to go looking for the guard when the guard were looking for Wardens, but they had little time for subtleties anyway. Idun found Kylon at his guard station in the market district. Though he greeted her right away by name, the sergeant soon put them at ease. His chief concern was not politics, he said, but the fact that the decent folk of Denerim could not walk the streets safely. Of the civil war he would say nothing. After some discussion, the Wardens agreed to keep the peace and to keep an eye out for banditry when they were in the city. In return, Kylon would try to see that no city guard interfered with their movement in Denerim. Loghain's guards were a different story, but it was something, at least.

As the four companions emerged from the guard station, Idun suggested they find a spot out of the city press to eat. She told them that she had seen a promising spot, a bit of grassy hill, when they passed below the palace district.

"Oh goodie, a picnic," Morrigan responded with her usual mixture of cheer and disdain. Idun knew to ignore it. It was just the mage's way, and a cover for the fact that Morrigan was more eager to see new things than any of them. Idun maintained a friendly facade with her fellow mage; in another lifetime they might even had been friends. There were too many shadows between them now, however, the unspoken awareness of Flemeth's bargain with Idun's tribe. Idun could not help but wonder what Morrigan would have said if she had heard the confrontation in the inn. It was from Flemeth, after all, that Idun had learned blood magic, and the woman Morrigan called "mother" was an abomination even more powerful than that Rivaini crone.

The Wardens and their companions climbed a winding path up the slope of Drakon, leaving some of the din and smell of the city below them. The grassy slope Idun had spotted was walled off, probably part of the palace gardens, but they managed to wedge themselves between a broken railing and pillar and were soon perched on the side of a hill with a magnificent view of Denerim below them.

"From here it almost looks clean," Zevran said as he popped open a bottle of the wine and stretched back on the grass.

"Almost," Idun admitted, smiling. The day had been fair, and now the sun's rays were lengthening. Below them the city tumbled down the slope in ever-increasing untidiness until it fell off into the sea. The Hafter River twisted in a lazy, brown strip, slinking under the high walls of the elven alienage before it also made its way out to the bay. Idun had seen large cities before, but the vista was still so stunning that it was hard to credit her eyes.

"So are you going to tell me what that woman said to you in the inn?" Alistair prompted after they had eaten. The two Wardens sat next to each other on the grass, not touching but obviously easy with one another. This was their way, born out of habit since Ostagar. None of their other companions, no matter how committed, had the stake in this fight that the two Wardens did. The fact that their cooperation had grown into something more had been a surprise to both of them.

"She called me blood mage," Idun admitted, flinching inwardly. This was a sore subject between them. "She said I'm a wild elf who drinks the blood of men. I suppose if I'd let her go on, she'd have added that I steal children and kill puppies for fun. Then the wags at the inn would really have had something to talk about, assuming someone could translate for them."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "She said that? How did she know?"

"I told you, she is an abomination. No doubt her demon sensed my power, and thought to lure or force me into helping it. Demons are hungry for mages, you know that. Perhaps my dress made her think that I was Rivaini and would be easier to fool. Or the demon thought that since I am a blood mage, I would be willing to treat with it, and it might gain a foothold in me." She glanced at him. "I can see you don't want to talk about this, so why are you bringing it up?" In the past they had argued about blood magic. To Idun it was not a black and white thing as the Chantry made it out to be, though the Dalish knew its dangers, too, and knew how easily it could be misused. It had thus not taken much convincing for her to promise Alistair to use such power only in dire need. Thus far she had kept her promise, employing it only once as a weapon. At that time, Alistair had been surrounded by enemies, cut off from the others and pressed hard. He might have died if she had not used the power. Nevertheless, no one needed to convince Idun that it was a terrible thing to see men writhing, the very blood in their veins boiling. She had dreamt about it afterwards for days.

"I do want to talk about it," he insisted. "I don't care what she called you. She threatened you and you were upset. That is the important thing." Idun turned to look at him, expecting to see restrained disapproval in his gaze. He was a templar at heart still, given to suspicion of things outside the familiar. This subject of blood magic tested these limits gravely. Instead of disapproval, however, Idun found that he was looking at her with longing so naked that it caused a blush to creep in her cheeks.

It was not the first time she had found him looking at her like this, and as always it left her head spinning. She had never expected to see such admiration and tenderness in a man's eyes since she lost Tamlen. Certainly not in a human man, a templar. Mercy of Sylaise, he was the shemlen prince! Stepping outside herself, Idun could see that it was madness, and a reckless madness. This blade inching through her defenses was a barbed one. If she let it lodge, it would not easily be removed. She knew this, and yet then Idun would look at him again and he was _Alistair_. Just Alistair, her friend, a man who was kinder to her than some of her own people had been and who was kind to most other people besides, who made her laugh, and who always had her back. Creators help her, but when she closed her eyes at night, it was not Tamlen that she saw any longer.

Idun leaned in and said quietly, "I think I disgust you." Alistair's eyes widened, but before he could deny it, she hurried on. "You fear me. You think I'm not really a person like others, even other mages. I saw it the first time I came back from being a wolf and wiped the blood from my mouth. Worse than this, I am a blood mage. You cannot even say those words without horror in your voice, Alistair. But you must believe that I didn't want this any more than you wanted to be sent to the Chantry." Idun could hear the desperation in her voice, but she didn't care. He had to understand. "I worked so hard at these arts, studied everything I could get my hands on, because I saw they might make a difference one day. I had no other use in my clan."

Idun got up, feet suddenly restless, and walked a few paces into a stand of trees. Alistair followed her, waiting for her to continue. After a moment she did. "I was supposed to become keeper. It's what everyone expected. The day Marethari told me she was passing me over me as her first, I raged and cried. When I calmed, she told me she had seen me in a dream. A great windstorm was bearing down on our camp and would have torn our aravels apart. She saw me..." Idun glanced self-consciously at him, then went on, "She saw me standing before the storm with my hand outstretched. The wind obeyed me and the camp was spared, though I was swept up into the cloud. She told me that she wanted to spare me from the drudgery and petty disputes of managing a clan because she believed the creators had made me something else. A guardian, she called it. I should continue my study, would represent the clan when we traded with other races, but I should not be tied to a keeper's duties. This was before we had any notion I would become a Grey Warden. I guess she was wise, wasn't she?"

Idun turned to Alistair to gauge how crazy he found this. She was gratified to see that he was listening quietly, his face serious, not incredulous. A warm place stirred in her. Among the shemlen, Idun had expected to be met with revulsion and disrespect, and the humans had not often disappointed her. Yet from the first both Duncan and then Alistair had taken her seriously, had had confidence in her. Alistair had almost too much confidence in her. He could not know how much this had meant to her.

"I don't like that part about the storm taking you, but your keeper is very wise." The man moved a step closer, and reached up to cup Idun's cheek, fingerless gloves allowing his roughened skin to brush over hers. "Don't you ever think that you disgust me. If you only knew..." He stopped, then went on forcefully, "You are a _Grey Warden_. That means something. You might end up saving all of us, not just your clan. You're not some maleficar off in the forest boiling the blood of travelers for their coin, or... or mind controlling some wealthy nobleman for power..."

"Killing puppies for fun."

"Or eating babies," Alistair agreed, grinning. His hand moved to brush at the strands of hair not covered by her hood's cloak. Shaking his head, he scowled angrily. "So I don't want to hear any of that nonsense out of you. _Disgust _me! What a pile of rot."

Idun could not suppress a smile. "Did the Grand Cleric teach you to curse like that?"

"That's nothing," Alistair confided, lifting an eyebrow. "When she's on a tear? Ooh, ouch! Words you've never even heard of, and a screech that would boil the skin off a nug."

"You've never even seen a nug."

Alistair leaned over, cutting off further talk with a touch of his lips to hers. Twice before they had kissed. The first time he had stolen it while they washed the dinner pots. Then, Tamlen. After his reappearance in their camp as a half-shriek and his horrible death, Idun slid through days of mostly silent grief. Yet truth be told, she had begun to let Tamlen go even before that night. Finally learning what had happened to him and seeing his torment come to an end had been a relief. It still pained her to remember, pained her to be happy. Alistair had been patient, unsure of himself, though she could tell he wanted to comfort her. After a few weeks had passed, he had tried to kiss her again. Idun had panicked, pushing him away. Later that night, having mastered her guilt and anxiety, she cornered him in a quiet spot in camp and reminded herself of what a kiss could be like when it wasn't furtively stolen. Breathing into her ear when they were done, Alistair had told her that she was the first woman he had ever kissed. He was learning fast.

The dusk was deepening around them in the little Denerim park. When Alistair released her, he spoke forcefully, pleading. "You need to trust me, Idun. When are you going to do that? You keep talking as if I'm no better than those bandits who hurt you. How do you think that makes me feel? Your life and what you do, it's so different than anything I encountered before, but I'm trying to understand. Until I became a Grey Warden, I only learned one way. The Chantry's way. Don't blame me for that. I think I've earned a bit more. Haven't I?"

Idun searched his face. The blade was driving further. If it had to be torn out, now was the time. She wanted so badly to believe that what she saw in him was real, that even if they died in a few days or weeks' time, they had had something sweet and true. Other women might steal comfort from a handsome man for its own sake, but for Idun that was not enough. If this was all an illusion, she had to know. If Alistair wasn't thinking about what it could mean, she had to stop it.

"What will you do when the templars come for me?"

Alistair paused, startled, then shook his head impatiently. "You're a Warden. The templars can't touch you."

"Grey Warden or no, they'll come someday." Idun's voice was insistent. "You know they will. One of their own, a Circle mage, perhaps they would leave such a person alone even if they lost her to the Wardens. Me they will not abide. They cannot. If we actually succeed at stopping the Blight, it will only prove to them how dangerous I am." When Alistair said nothing, she pressed on. "I just want you to have a clear mind. What we've been doing, it's... I want it. Very much. I just want you to think carefully about this."

"I can barely think of anything else." Alistair's voice was as firm and warm as his touch had been.

"Think carefully." Idun smiled at him, then walked away before he could have a chance to make her a quick promise he would someday regret.

The southern bridgeway leading out of the city was as bustling as the center had been, despite the late hour. The following day was market day and there were carts and travelers going in both directions. Suddenly, an unearthly shriek pierced the clatter. Zevran was two steps behind the others and reacted first, reaching out to clutch at a dark shape that was hurtling itself towards Idun's back. The Antivan cried out in pain as a dagger buried itself in his shoulder, but he hung on to the assailant. Idun turned, already reaching for her staff. As Zevran wrestled the figure across the pavement stones into a pool of torchlight, she recognized the crone from the inn. The demon in her was giving her a strength that no decrepit woman would normally have possessed. With shouts, the crowd scattered while guards ran towards them. Idun heard Alistair's sword ringing from its scabbard, but when Zevran turned so that she got a clear shot, she sent a burst of flame leaping towards the crone's head. The woman uttered a high-pitched scream and released Zevran, shoving him backwards onto the pavement stones. She then turned to round on Idun.

"_Sufa tandam, ya maegi,"_ an inhuman voice rasped. _You will regret that._

The city guardsmen who were running towards them stopped in their tracks when the tiny old woman twisted herself into impossible angles, then grew until it was three times the size that it had been, a black shade with one eye glittering of malice. Idun raised her staff and began to call forth fire again, but as the shade lunged for her, Alistair jumped in between with a shout. For a moment the Warden seemed to half disappear inside the shade. Idun was forced to use more targeted fire again to avoid burning him. Morrigan was also sending bolts in the demon's direction, each one causing it to hiss and squirm. Alistair's shouts turned guttural as the abomination began drawing his very life from him, trying to heal itself. They all had battled demons before, however, and the end was inevitable. The shade soon lay in an inky pool on the paving stones. The city guardsmen kept their wary distance, having done nothing during the fight but gape.

When Alistair waved her off and stood on his own power, Idun turned and crouched next to Zevran. The dagger still protruded from the Antivan's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Zevran. I'm so sorry. Lay still and I'll put this right."

"Stop apologizing, my dear Grey Warden," Zevran replied, as cheerful as ever even though his face was pale. "I do not think the wound is deep, so there is no need. Unless you're here to tell me that my brandy was smashed during the fight. Then I might have to cry for a minute or two." From behind them, Morrigan held up a bottle and sloshed it. Zevran sighed happily at the sound, saying, "There you see. A silver lining to this rather messy cloud. Friend of yours, I take it?"

"She wanted to be my friend, let's put it that way," Idun replied wryly. "You met her in the inn, remember? I declined her invitation, and hence..." She had loosened the laces of Zevran's armor, pulled the leather pieces back, and tore at his undertunic to clear it away. With a brief warning, Idun took a breath and pulled the dagger from his flesh, immediately putting forth her healing magic to staunch the blood and beat back some of the pain. The Antivan elf had merely let out a strained sigh. Idun knew that he had learned, in the cruelest ways possible, to endure much more pain than this. A moment later Zevran muttered weakly, "The hospitality of the Grey Wardens is famous, so I am not surprised she sought it out. I came all the way from Antiva to find it, after all."

"Don't talk now, Zevran, for the love of Mythal." Morrigan was behind her handing down bandages, and Idun let another pulse of healing magic flow into the elven man's shoulder. His face visibly relaxed and he smiled up at the mage.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to look up and see you above me, Warden," he muttered dreamily. "It is not an unpleasant experience. Might we do this again?"

Idun pulled a wry grin. "I could stab you again if you like. Don't tempt..."

"Warden!" Morrigan's tone was urgent. Idun whirled to look just as Alistair was sinking to his knees. The Grey Warden paused there, then slumped sideways, his sword clattering away. Hurrying to his side, Idun turned him over carefully with Morrigan's help, cradling his head in her lap. There was no blood leaking from his armor, but Alistair's eyes had rolled back in his head and he was unresponsive. Panicking, Idun closed her eyes a moment to draw forth her power, then sent a charge of healing magic into him. Nothing. It felt like her spellcraft had been sucked into a void.

"He's been spelled," she said, anxiety making her voice tight. The shade had obviously cursed him with some life-draining spell that still lingered, a slow-acting poison of its own kind. Idun pressed her eyes closed once more, concentrating. She had known a little dispelling before and Alistair had taught her after the manner of templars, but it was not her specialty. Opening her eyes again, she brushed her hands over him, blanketing him with waves of dispel. Anxiously Idun watched his face. He gave no reaction so she repeated her efforts again, whispering a prayer to Sylaise. Alistair's throat made a gurgling noise, but after a moment his eyes returned to sight, blinking. Conscious, he could himself assist Idun in dispelling the rest of the curse's effects. After a few moments, he sat up, muttering, "Another abomination down. I'm getting pretty tired of those."

"Can you stand, lethalllan'in?"

"Lethall..?" He was clutching his forehead, but looked at her, puzzled.

"Never mind." Alistair could stand, as it turned out, and so could Zevran. All of them had known worse injuries than these. They had spent as much time camped to wait out the recovery of one or another injured party member as they had in traveling between Ferelden's cities. This night they were camped in a meadow outside the city, along one of the streams that fed into Hafter. The four companions stumbled wearily into the camp and found their bedrolls.

* * *

The following day, Kylon found them at a weapons stall in the market. The templars were making inquiries about an incident the previous night, he told them. He had recognized the description given of the four and guessed it must be them. Idun explained what had happened, and the sergeant agreed that no more needed to be done about it and that he would tell the templars as much. Kylon was already proving a valuable ally. The last thing Idun wanted to attract was templar curiosity. The rest of the day they set about seeing to weapon and arms repairs and buying the rarer provisions they could not get in the smaller towns.

That night in camp, Idun bathed in the stream and afterwards coiled herself in her wrap. Alistair was seated by the fire cleaning his sword, and looked up as she returned. He smiled, murmuring a greeting. She caught him glancing at her neck where the cloth made a junction over bare skin, but he looked quickly away, passing her an open wine bottle before returning to his task.

"We should head to Orzammar before the snows set in," Idun suggested between sips. "Otherwise I fear the passes will be difficult to travel. We will have our difficulties coming back, but at least we should make better time on the way." Alistair seemed not to be listening, though he nodded. There was a long pause where neither of them said anything.

"I will protect you," he said quietly, breaking the silence. Idun looked up, puzzled. Alistair glanced at her and went on, "You asked me what I would do if the templars came for you. I would protect you with everything I have. I promise you."

Idun stared at him searchingly. His face was grave and thoughtful, though the smile lines at his eyes never left him. _Trust me_, he had pleaded. _I have earned that._ Idun found that she couldn't speak, so she just nodded. Alistair glanced at her again, then his mouth twitched into a grin and he asked, "What was it that you called me the other night? Letha..."

"Lethallan'in," she supplied, smiling. "It means..." Her vocabulary of the king's tongue did not seem to provide a very good translation. Literally it was "dear friend whose woman I am," but that was not very elegant and a mouthful besides. Finally she decided on a term. "It means 'my beloved.'"

Alistair's eyes softened. "I had hoped it was something like that."

After another moment's silence Idun leaned forward, put her mouth close to his ear and said, "Neither of us has the watch. I would like you to come to my tent tonight. If you're willing."

He turned toward her, gaping. "Your tent? You mean...? Of course you do." Rubbing a hand over his temple, Alistair blinked as though trying to ensure that he was awake.

"If you would rather not..."

"I would rather would," he answered quickly. "I mean, I would rather... blast."

Idun smiled and pressed her lips to his cheek. "I'll go there now. Come when you are ready. If you decide not to, I'll understand."

She was crouched at the head of the bedroll, indigo wrap still coiled loosely about her, when Alistair slipped through the tent flap. A faint light from the amber stone on her staff cast fire-like shadows in the small space. He stared at her a moment, transfixed, then came forward and knelt on the bedroll. Idun smiled as she smelled soap, one of the fragrant soaps she made herself and which he usually turned his nose up at. He had been to the stream, too. Wet hair stuck out in the same sort of jagged angles it took on after sleep. His chest was bare, but he wore a pair of loose linen pants and around his neck was the amulet of Andraste they had recovered in Redcliffe. His palms were together, clutching something gently.

"I picked them," Alistair said, producing some dewberries. A few spilled off his palm and skittered across the blankets. "I thought you might like some."

Idun smiled, inching forward and taking a few. She found that his hands were trembling. As she came closer, Alistair leaned forward almost by instinct, brushing his nose to the hair at her temple. Then he sat back, letting out a sigh that was almost a groan. They sat in silence a few moments, Idun popping berries into her mouth. They were shriveled, but still the sweetest fruit she had ever tasted.

"I've never done this before." The confession came spilling out of him. "I wanted to before, but I wanted it to be right, too. I wanted you to know how much it meant to me. How much I care for you. You realize that, don't you?"

"I do," Idun replied, her voice low. Hesitantly, she added, "I have done this before, you should know that."

"With Tamlen." There was hurt in his voice, but immediately Alistair corrected, saying, "It's alright, really. You loved him, I know that.

"I did love him," she nodded. "And when we lay together, it was not just in passion, but very... consciously." Idun could hear the accent in her voice thickening, a sign that she was nervous, as well. Her mastery of the king's tongue failed her at the worst moments. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on. "It means a great deal to our people, this act. Tamlen and I were not just stealing pleasure. We were making a promise to each other."

Alistair was silent, looking trapped. Idun could see that he did not understand what she was trying to tell him or why she kept talking about another man. She moved towards him slightly. He flinched, then tossed the remaining berries aside into the corner, wiping leftover juice on his pants, heedless of the purple streaks he left there. Very slowly he reached out to hold her waist so that they knelt face to face. Being so close to him, with so many barriers dropped, fed Idun's ache, but it also made this easier. She had never felt that anything was more natural or more right, not since Tamlen. As different as they seemed in all the outward ways, she and Alistair were so often of one mind in the important things. In battle, they fell easily into one body, fighting together as though they had all their lives. This was not so different. The trust they had learned came in blood, and she was ready to see its more tender yield.

Idun suddenly wondered if words were even necessary, but she pressed on. "I didn't know I could ever feel this again, let alone for a..."

"For a human," Alistair finished, his voice husky. He reached up and touched her hair. The tremor in his hands had calmed a bit. He, too, seemed to be remembering that she was not just a woman, but his friend, the one he trusted every day with his life.

"Yes, that," Idun nodded. Flush was creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She took a breath to steady herself and said, "Your Chantry makes you take vows to marry, and we say vows as well. But now the whole world has gone mad, Alistair. We could die tomorrow, or tonight. Even if we survive, they might make you king and take you away from me. So I can't promise you my whole life, nor can you do the same for me. I just want you to know that... I promise you anyway. I'll promise you again tomorrow and the next, until I can't anymore. Do you understand?"

Alistair's answer was to lean forward and bury his face in her hair, slipping his hand down her back. His breath was ragged, but he said in her ear, "I do. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Idun pressed her eyes closed, uttering a wordless, insensible prayer to her gods and to his, that they might bear witness to their promises. Maybe, if they were kind, they would permit something to come out of them besides a few hours of desperate sweetness. Then she let her last defenses fall.


End file.
